I’m just home from celebrating the life of a dear friend and ex-sister-in-law. Her huge family included me in taking part in the scattering of her ashes up north in the mountains, as my son is her nephew and she and I were quite close.
The family has always been welcoming to me, and just enchanting, as they are so full of love and fun and warmth. I married one of them at 21, just a child. Upon reflection, I see now that I fell in love with the family mostly. They just drew me in. Three generations attended the gathering up in a meadow in Rocky Mountain National Park and the headwaters of the Colorado River, where they loved to go as children.
There was the patriarch, an almost 90 year old very fit man who remains devoted as the enduring symbol of the family. He walked through the meadows with a hiking stick, as did I, and told us all about the history of the ranch that used to sit on that land. Such wisdom and grace. We were definitely the elders of the group, and I realize I may never see him again.
Then there were all the middle-agers, couples and singles all in the height of their working years. Some have kids some not. There were the incredibly creative movie-related people from Los Angeles whose house burned in the fires last winter. There was the alcoholic, who may get divorced but didn’t want to talk about it. The kind and emotional youngest son of the deceased who put the whole weekend together, the very successful money man from New York City and his career-oriented wife, the niece who likes to be in control, the photographer who took all the wonderful photos, the nephew with so much heart I just couldn’t stop hugging him. They all had stories to tell of family times, other interments, fun memories.
And then, of course, there were “the cousins.” The three teenage boys we didn’t see much of during the weekend. One had a car, another some fishing gear, and who knows what else. They spent all three nights together on the floors of our different vacation rentals, leaving early and coming in late. Nice boys, sweet boys, but you know the story: The cousins can do pretty much whatever they want because the parents are all so happy to see each other they are not paying much attention. These times are what memories are made of. Love it, and I gave them my blessing.
My dear friend would have been proud. We even sang the old Swedish drinking song. Her son gave me a tiny box of her ashes to spread on my garden, as that’s where I mostly think of her. We were gardeners together, among other things. I still miss her lots. This gathering helped me with some closure though, and the knowing that nature takes its course, and life goes on. The juxtaposition of the teenage boys’ antics with the solemnness of the moment for others was truly beautiful.
Being an elder here, I see that I may not have recognized the wholeness of this family if I had been younger. My many years and many experiences give me a broader view and certain perspective to see the finer fabric of this family.
It is just like any other family – successes, challenges, secrets, underlying stories, fun times, memories, tragedies and sorrows. And just such joy in being together, celebrating a cherished woman who has left us. The highs, the lows, the comparisons, the escapades, the history. And mostly, the fierce and enduring love for each other.
Martha McClellan has lived in Durango since 1993 and has been an educator, consultant and writer. Reach her at mmm@bresnan.net.
